The something in Brad's memory that told him who the black-plumed Chief was and who he must be to keep them from being slain (The rattle of the long spears, the flashing blades, the body smells, the small human detail, like Infadoos' skinny companion, Scragga, picking his nose and brushing a fly off his ear: all were too real not to believe.) told him to hold his bearded chin high and be the indomitable hero straight out of the ancient steel-engravings.

Brad wanted to be Alan on his way to the mines.

His brain and his insides thrilled with it.  It was as if some small part of him always had been Alan Quatermain by empathizing with him and yearning for this adventure, for the agonizing trek beyond the Mountains of Sulimen, for all of it, terrifying and glorious.

For an hour he reveled in it, tramping along behind the tall, black-plumed tribal chief and Scragga; he dizzy with the need for it.  His life under Star Control had been bleak, circumspect, and soul-strangling.  Now it was as if all his secret dreams were about to burst loose and carry him into wild, wondrous worlds of enchantment where every fragment of his mind and senses would savor, thrill and find complete fulfillment.

He forgot about Harriet.  After all, she wasn't Captain Good with his false teeth and glass eye and half-shaven face.  She was only a chattel.  She was not of the True Word, and what was not of the True Word was nothing.

It took two good days traveling along Solomon's Great Road, which pursued its even course right into the heart of Kukuanaland.  The country seemed to grow richer and richer.  The kraals, with their wide surrounding belts of cultivation, more and more numerous...

"Where's the Great Road?" Brad cried finally.  "Where are the kraals, the cultivated farms?"

Infadoos turned.  His mahogany face showed disappointment, his arm flung out in a gesture of dismay.

"We have spent many days seeking.  It seems to me that all my life has been spent wandering with my warriors through these valleys, seeking the Word.  We have done all that we could.  We found ourselves with blades and spears and plumes.  We hunted game for our food, according to the Word.  Only with this day's sun has hope of fulfillment of the True Word come - with you, Alan Quatermain!"

Brad sighed.  And, much as I want to be Alan, I'm only a bastard brain-child of the True Word.  Maybe Harriet and I are the illusions!

Sense and strict training took over his brain.

"Infadoos."  He licked his dry lips.  "Where did you come from, before you began this search, I mean?"

Infadoos scowled.  Then, because he couldn't understand what Brad was hinting at and refused to even try to understand it, he snapped the native equivalent of "shut up" and whirled front again.